DEATH'S revenge
by Ascari
Summary: Death is hunting rouge watchers to avenge Darius (there are also some Darius Methos flashbacks)- Complete!
1. 1

**Standard disclaimer: the concept of Immortality and the Immortals belong to**

**Rysher and are copyrighted by them. This story is for fun, not for profit.**

* * *

**DEATH's revenge**

Methos ran as fast as he could over a dark graveyard. In the sky above him, he saw a flash of lightning and heard the loud thunder mix with the rapid beating of his heart. His mind was full of fear, although he didn't know the reason for it. He ran and ran knowing that something terrible was going to happen.

Suddenly a lightning flash illuminated the dark night sky with an almost alien light, and Methos's eyes caught the gravestone in front of him. He blinked in horror as the meaning of the inscription registered in his mind: "DARIUS beloved brother, murdered 1993".

"No," he whispered "no, that can't be. You are alive…that can't be." Terrified, he backed away when he suddenly heard another thunder clap followed by a long, almost inhuman cry coming out of the church to his left. Methos felt a cold shudder running down his back while the small hair of his neck stood straight up. The cry had sounded as if someone was being burned alive.

The only thing Methos wanted to do now was to run away and never turn back - but he wasn't able to. In horror he watched himself walk to the church until he stood in front of the big doors. Forced by an invisible power, Methos pushed it open. For a second there was only darkness before Methos's eyes adjusted and he could see the shape of a figure standing in front of the altar. Then lighting illuminated the church and Methos identified the figure as Darius. The priest was clothed in a white robe and held a red rose in his hands while he smiled at Methos. Methos smiled back at him when he suddenly heard another loud peal of thunder. Then everything went completely silent – deadly silent. Methos almost didn't trust his eyes when the red rose in Darius hands began to wilt. At the same time, Darius robe changed its colour: the former white changed into a light red before it turned darker and darker. In the end it was blood red.

Methos stared with horrified eyes at the still smiling priest. He wanted to move but he found himself totally frozen in place. He could only stand and watch the horrible act in front of him, while the only sound he could hear was his own heart, beating very quickly in fear.

Then he watched in morbid fascination as small line of blood appeared on the other man's neck. It grew bigger and bigger until it looked like a sword cut. In slow motion Darius's head felt from his body and landed in front of Methos – it still smiled. This was the moment Methos regained control of his body and voice: he screamed and screamed and…

…. was suddenly sitting upright in his bed. His whole body was covered in sweat and he was shaking terribly. "Oh God," he thought, "this was only a nightmare…only a nightmare." He switched on the lights on and hurried into the bathroom where he splashed cold water onto his hot face. He stared at the white face that was staring back at him out of the mirror. "Only a nightmare," he reassured himself. "Darius is fine and alive. He is safe on holy ground…nothing will happen to him... I will call him tomorrow and make sure he is safe."

With that he went back to his bed. Methos needed about two hours before he finally managed to sleep again.


	2. 2

**Next day, evening**

The next day, Methos dialed Darius's phone number at St. Julien's church. After a few rings, he heard the old priest's familiar voice. "St. Julien's, brother Darius speaking. How can I help you?"

"Hi," Methos smiled, relieved that the priest was obviously all right. "It's me, old friend."

"Oh, Methos," Darius replied. "It's nice to hear from you. Have you decided your next move yet?" (Both men had been playing chess for about 3 years via phone now, exchanging their moves weekly.)

"Yes, Pawn A6 to A7." Methos heard Darius put the receiver down, and then there were loud footsteps. About half a minute later Darius returned.

"Good move, old friend," Darius amused voice came out of the receiver. "But you have to do better if you want to beat me."

They talked about 30 minutes and exchanged the latest Immortal news. Darius told Methos about Marcus Constantin's last visit to the church. Then Methos finally asked the crucial question. "Darius?…Are you all right…I mean is there any dangerous Immortal near who is threatening you?"

"No, not that I know. Why do you ask?"

"I have a dream about you. It was a nightmare. You lost your head on holy ground…the dream was so real."

Methos heard laughter in the priest's voice and the reassuring reply "Everything is fine, old friend; this is the house of God. No Immortal – and may he be as evil as possible – will ever break this rule…No, Methos, I'm perfectly safe here…don't be afraid for me…. Why not come over and visit me? We could finish our chess game," Darius suggested. "…And don't forget to bring the old Scottish whiskey, which Marcus sent you," he laughed.

"Why not," Methos happily agreed. "When?"

"Hmmm…do you have time on Wend…". Suddenly there was a loud noise at the other end of the line. It sounded like braking glass. "Wait a minute," he heard Darius's voice. While he could hear Darius putting the receiver down, he recognized the noise of several persons entering the room. "What do you want?" Darius wanted to know. "This is the house of God, you cannot come here with weapons. I must insist that you leave immediately."

"Shut up, Immortal scum," came the angry voice of a man. "You think you are so clever. You and your kind of freaks. Think that you are better than the rest of us…"

At the last words Methos went cold. He swallowed hard while his hand became sweaty around the receiver. His hard was beating very loud and quickly in rising fear.

"I…" he heard Darius's voice being interrupted by the sound of a forceful slap.

Then there was another mocking voice. "He said "shut up", you scum…Don't think you can fool us, we know exactly who you are, General Darius," he spat. "You may hide behind holy walls, pretend to be a holy man… but we know who you really are, you and the rest of your freakish kind…You are killing bastards and nothing else. "

"Please," Darius once again tried to reason with the men but was again silenced by another blow.

"We don't want to hear your excuses," intervened another angry voice. "I know your kind very well. I've witnessed your killing long enough …You and your kind think you can do whatever you want without any consequence. But today is pay back time…We will erase your kind from this world – OUR world…Take him," he then ordered "and bring him here".

Methos felt like he was in a bad movie - the whole scenario was totally unreal. He wanted to scream into the phone but all he could manage was a whisper. "No...no."

Then he recognized the sound of a drawn sword and Darius's horrified plea. "Please, you cannot do this, this is holy ground. You cannot violate…" His voice was interrupted by another slap against flesh, and Methos heard a cry of pain.

"Kill him, George, " one of the voices laughed. A second later, Methos heard another sound he knew very well. It was the sound of a sword cutting through flesh. Then there was deadly silence for a moment.

"You got what you deserved, Immortal scum, " Methos heard a voice laugh evilly. "You will not be the only one…Let's go, no need for any witnesses."

Hearing leaving footsteps, Methos sank to the floor – still holding the receiver in his shaking hand. "No… this is not real," he tried to reassure himself. "This is a dream…I have only to wake up." He closed his eyes and counted to four before he reopened them. He was still sitting on the floor while he still held the phone in his cold hands. Not believing his sins, he hung up and dialed Darius's number once again. But a busy signal was everything he got .

"This is not real…not real…this cannot be." He grabbed his keys and ran to his car while he repeated the thoughts over and over in his mind that Darius was alive. Without paying much attention to the traffic, he raced to the church.


	3. 3

**St. Julien church**

About 30 endless minutes later, Methos arrived at the church. He left his car without even locking it, and raced to the church's entryway. Pushing the heavy old doors open, he swallowed very hard before he entered the old, French church. The only sound that he heard was the quick beating of his own fearful heart. The inside of the church was cold and there was light, except that of the small burning candles on the left and the right side, illuminating the nave. No other living soul disturbed the almost surreal scene that presented itself to Methos's eyes.

Methos had given up faith in any kind of God long time ago, but this time, even he silently prayed for Darius's life. Holding his breath, he slowly walked to the small door on his left side that led to the corridor to Darius's chambers.

Before he opened it, his eyes caught the sight of wilted red roses and fragments of glass lying on the floor. Methos suddenly felt a cold shudder run down his back, and his heart froze in almost painful fear. He knelt down and picked up one of the roses. Shuddering, he remembered his dream and the fact that he had seen exactly these roses before witnessing Darius's death.

"No, Darius is alive." Shaking his head and denying himself to surrender to fear, he then stood up and went strait to Darius's chambers. He hesitated only a second in front of the final door before he forcefully pushed it open...and froze in incredible shock.

The first thing he recognized was the blood that was almost everywhere. The second thing was a bodiless head lying in front of him. Methos moaned when he realized that it was Darius's head. The dead eyes of the priest stared directly into Methos's. Drawn by an invisible force, Methos stepped into the room where his shocked mind noticed the body, lying in a big puddle of dark, almost black blood. "No," he whispered with a shaking voice. "No…not you…not you…no…"

Weakly, Methos sank to the floor while his eyes never left Darius dead form. His mind was totally blank now – there was no fear or anger or any other kind of feeling left. Totally catatonic, he put his arms around his legs and began to rock back and forth, back and forth.

After 30 minutes, Methos suddenly became aware of his surroundings again. When he stared into the priest's dead eyes, something deep within him cracked and he felt ancient rage rise in his heart– a rage, with which he was very familiar. Not even trying to fight the darkness, he let it swallow him completely and welcomed DEATH back.

With angry hot fire burning in his eyes, Death stood up and went to Darius's body where he took a small golden cross, which Darius had been wearing for about 400 years. Drawing his sword, he then made a small cut through is own palm before he took the cross into his now bleeding hand.

"I will avenge you, old friend…I swear that these bastards will pay. They will wish they had never been born before I am finished with them," he swore with a very cold voice devoid of any human emotion while he clenched his fist around the cross.

After a moment of deadly silence, Death turned and left.


	4. 4

**Next day, Methos's flat**

Death sat in front of his booting laptop. His temper had finally cooled and he was able to think clearly again. He eyed the destroyed glass topped-table to his left and then let his eyes wander over the other damaged furniture's in his room. The destruction had helped to work the overwhelming rage out of his system and to bring the rational and clear thinking strategist back. Now he was able to make a plan.

He hacked into the watcher database and searched for watchers named George. As a result, 45 watchers appeared on the screen. After also adding that the watcher had to stay near or in Paris as main criteria, only two watchers were left.

Death clicked the file of the first listed watcher and read. The man was described to be a 45-year-old English man. He was divorced and no children or other relatives were mentioned. According to his file, he had been in the watchers for about 25 years now. He apparently had been a field watcher until his assignment had lost his head about four month ago. After that, the watcher had been ordered back to headquarters and was now doing research. Before Death closed the file, he made a note of the watcher's current home address and office number.

Then he opened the other file. It noted that the other watcher was a 34 years old Welsh, who was not married but involved with another female watcher. His current status was active. This meant that the watcher was currently observing an Immortal. According to the file, he had been watching his assignment for about three years. Neither the watcher file nor the Immortal chronicle included any striking entry.

Death decided to focus his attention on the older George first, because as a researcher he was much easier to access than the younger field watcher.

About three hours later, Death sat in the corridor of HQ on a visitor chair and observed George's office while he pretended to wait. When George finally left his office and went to the Men's room at the other end of the corridor, Death followed.

George had already finished and was washing his hands as Death entered. Showing his Adam Pierson persona, Death moved behind the him and looked into the mirror, which reflected the other man's face. He had short brown hair and a small scar on his chin, which was almost covered by a short beard. His eyes were the same colour as Darius's. Suddenly, Death no longer saw the George's face being reflected in the mirror but the dead priest's. For a brief moment he once again could hear the pleas of the old priest and the laughter of his killers.

Then the moment was gone and he found himself back in the Men's room. When his eyes locked with the man's in the mirror, the man smiled and turned to greet him." Hello, you are Don Salzer's young colleague, aren't you? I have heard of you. You research the whereabouts of Methos."

Although Death expected this man to be the one he was searching for, he froze as he heard the man's voice – a voice he would never forget. This was the bastard.

Cold anger exploded in his stomach and he clenched his fists until his nails cut into his flesh, drawing blood. The desire to slice the man's throat open became almost overwhelming. He pushed the nails deeper into his flesh and used the inflicted pain to stay focused and not to surrender to burning rage. Forcing himself to stabilize the Adam Pierson persona, he smiled back. "Yes, you are right," he managed to answer with Adam Pierson's polite voice "that's me".

"My name is George Lander," the man then introduced himself. "I've been working in research since my assignment was killed…" Death felt the other mans examining eyes on him. "Maybe we can have dinner some time and talk about your search object," he smiled. "A conversation between researchers so to speak."

"Sure," Death agreed "why not…that will surly be very interesting…for both of us".

"Great," Lander said "I would really love to talk with you a little bit longer but I have a meeting to attend. I'll call you and then we can talk." He smiled and then left the room.

If Landers had turned and looked back at this moment, he wouldn't have recognized the man standing in front of the mirror as Adam Pierson any longer. Totally gone was the harmless young researcher persona, instead, there stood a very dangerous man with cold golden eyes. The former friendly smile had turned into an evil grin. "Yes, we both WILL have a conversation…but YOU will not like it." Death flashed his own reflection a last smile and then turned to leave HQ.


	5. 5

**Next day, George Lander's home**

Eyeing George Lander's personal belongings, Death wandered around in the watcher's house. He liked what he saw – the furnishings made a very expensive and exquisite impression and absolutely fitted Death's taste. Even better he liked the beer he had found in Lander's refrigerator – his favourite brand.

He let his fingers slide over the watcher's collection of old books and then pulled one out: it was "The Decameron" by Giovanni Boccaccio. Death smiled and opened the book, letting his eyes wander over the pages. The book took place during the plague in Florence, 1348. It described ten young pupils that were escaping the plague and telling each other about 100 different stories.

Death let his smile spread on his face while his thoughts drifted away into the past.

**---------------------------------------------Flashback---------------------------------------**

**1469, a small village near Paris**

Dr. Adam Livre aka Methos smiled as he discovered his wife Joan in their small garden. They had been married for about ten years now, and he still loved her as much as at the beginning. Looking at her, he saw the first traces of age show in her face. With her 39 years, she still was a very beautiful woman. Her hair still held the colour of the golden sun although Methos could discover a few silver strands. Her eyes, in which he could lose himself without any problem, had the colour of the ocean sea.

"Hi," he greeted happily and took her into his arms while he placed a kiss on her lips. Then he let go of her to draw a single red rose out of his coat. "A rose for my beautiful rose," he smiled and gave it to her.

"Charmer," she smiled back while she took the rose and sniffed at it.

"How did it go?" Methos then wanted to know. "Any complications?"

Still smiling, she shook her head. "Everything is fine. The boy is healthy and the mother tired but happy."

Joan worked as midwife and had helped her neighbour give birth to a son. Joan was very talented, and not only knew how to help birthing women but also had a lot of knowledge concerning herbs. Methos, who had been a doctor himself since he had graduated in Germany some years ago, had met her when both were called to help a man who had fell from his horse.

Methos immediately fell in love with her as he looked into her deep blue eyes. Two weeks later, he had asked her to marry him. She had agreed immediately. A year later, they had moved into a small village near Paris and were both working there: she as midwife and he as a doctor. They were respected and had even managed to make enough money to afford some servants.

"Jean Decourt sent a servant for you," she said. "Apparently their young boy is ill. You should go and see if you can help." Methos sighed. Kissing her goodbye, he sent a servant to bring his horse and medical instruments.

When he finally arrived at the farmhouse, a farm lass was already waiting at the front door to take care of his horse. He entered the house and was guided to a small bedroom. In the bed laid a young boy and next to him waited a small woman with black hair and a face that reflected the hardness of her live. Methos knew that she was not older than 30 but she looked 50. It was Mrs. Decourt, the boy's mother. When she heard him enter, she looked up with hopeful eyes and smiled shyly at him. "Doctor," she whispered "Thank God that you are here. My boy is very ill. I no longer know what to do."

After Methos had reassured her and sent her out of the room he sat down next to the boy and examined him more closely. The boy's face was covered in sweat, so was the rest of his body. His whole body was burning and the boy looked almost delirious. Methos opened one of the boy's eyes and saw that the pupil was wider than normal. He checked the boy's pulse and felt that it was very unsteady. Finally removing the boy's clothes, he also found black-blue coloured boils on his groin. Methos knew which kind of illness this was: the plague.

Sitting back on the chair, Methos closed his eyes while he felt the rising fear in his stomach. He had hoped so much that the plague would spare the village. Obviously his hope had been futile. It was too late now to stop the plague because the boy had very likely infected other people already. The contamination time was two to ten days. By the time the black boils showed, the infected person had normally only a few days left.

He did what he could for the boy although he knew that it was already too late. Then he cleaned himself very carefully and instructed the farmer's wife how to take care of the boy and how to protect the rest of her family. Methos had not much hope that it would help anyone.

Then he rode back to his house and sent a servant to the mayor. He instructed him to inform the mayor about the plague and to tell him to send a message to Paris to ask for medical help.

After that, he searched for his wife. He found her in the living room, preparing food. Looking up at him, she first smiled but let the smile die as she saw his concerned face.

"What happened?" she wanted to know.

"The plague arrived in the village. The boy is infected; he already has the boils. And he will not remain the only one…you have to leave immediately. I want you to pack your things. I will tell the servants to take you somewhere safe."

She looked at him and then shook her head, her face suddenly very determined. "No, I will stay. I cannot leave and let them die. They will need all the medical help they can get, and we both are the only ones who know what to do."

When Methos looked into her eyes he knew that he would not be able to persuade her otherwise. She had made her decision. She smiled at him very gently and took his face between her fingers. "They are my people… I know the risks but I cannot let them down. It's my duty to stay and help…Please accept my decision." She caressed his face with one hand. "I love you."

When she kissed him, he knew that he had lost. There was no way to convince her to leave now. One part of him hated her for risking her life for other people, but the other part of him was aware that this was one of the reasons why he loved her so much.

About two weeks later, almost half of the people in the village were ill. Although Methos and Joan had done everything to help the people and to stop the plague, it had not been enough. The Black Death had already taken five lives; the Decourt boy had only been the first of many others.

Both Methos and his wife were working day and night. They were very tired, not only from the lack of sleep, but also because of the psychological stress. It was very hard to get involved with people while nursing them and then watch them die.

When finally the requested help in the form of 20 monks arrived, Methos felt a slight feeling of relief in his stomach - they were not alone any longer. Walking to meet the monks from Paris, he suddenly felt an Immortal presence. Shocked and surprised, he froze for a moment while he tried to discover the other Immortal. Apparently, the other happened to be one of the robe-wearing monks.

Methos almost couldn't believe his eyes when suddenly one of the monks pulled back his cowl and smiled in Methos's direction. Methos found himself looking into the gentle eyes of Darius. Not being able to build one clear thought in his mind, he suddenly was overwhelmed by the feelings of relief, happiness and hope - altogether at the same time.

Darius took Methos in a warm hug and greeted him, "My friend, so we meet again… Although I had hoped for better circumstances." Finally, Darius broke the hug and stepped back while his eyes never left Methos's. "Come, my friend, and show us what we can do." Methos felt Darius hand on his shoulder guide him, and for the first time since the plague had started, hope returned.

A week later, the Black Death had held a rich harvest among the living. Ten people had died, although the monks were taking care of the sick as best as they could. Sleeping only when necessary, the monks guarded the sick, cooled their bodies with water, fed them and stayed with them to the end while they prayed with them. Without Darius's help, Methos had given up already. It was too much to bear sometime – even for a 4500 year old man. The presence of Darius and the other monks alone was enough to give hope were no hope was left.

Methos awoke two days later in his bed when he felt something very hot at his chest. Irritated, he lit a candle. One look at his wife was enough: her face was wet with sweat and she was acting as if she had fever. Feeling her pulse, he felt an unsteady beating.

"No," Methos groaned. He knew the signs, had long enough witnessed the illness. She had the plague. Obviously, she had infected herself as she nursed the sick. Feeling the rising fear in his stomach, he shook his head in denial. "No," he whispered while pain broke his voice. "Oh, no…not you, please…not you." Feeling tears welling up in his eyes, he began to caress her face with one hand. She didn't wake up but remained sleeping.

"This is not fair…." He stared at her beautiful face and wished they had never moved here. But it was too late; there was no way to turn back time.

Finally, he lay down next to her and took her sleeping form into his arms. He watched her while he felt hot tears rolling down his face.

Hours later, while he stayed awake and guarded her sleep, she finally awoke and turned to him. When she saw his tear-stained face and registered her own hot body and the pain in her head, she immediately knew. Very sadly she smiled at him. "I am ill."

Although this was not a question but a statement, he nodded. "Yes, my love," he whispered while his voice broke.

Her beautiful eyes filled with tears but she managed a brave smile and caressed his face with one finger, wiping away his tears. "I knew the risks," she whispered "but I had to do it…it was my fate." Methos watched a single glittering tear run down her beautiful cheek. "I am so sorry, my love," she continued to whisper. "I don't want to leave you…please forgive me."

Methos looked at his brave woman and wanted to answer, but his voice refused to obey him. The only thing he could do was to take her into his arms again and to cry with her.

During the next days, her illness became worse. Methos had not left her side a single moment. He stayed with her day and night, nursing her while he told her stories of his life. By the time the first boils showed, he knew that they had little time left. She knew, too, and asked for a priest to make her last confession. Although Methos didn't believe in any kind of God, he was not able to deny her last wish. He sent for a priest.

About 30 minutes later, he felt Darius arriving. The priest entered the bedroom in which Joan lay and smiled sadly. As the looks of both men met, Methos knew that he was understood. Darius's eyes were full of kindness and regret. The priest said nothing but laid one hand on Methos's shoulder while his eyes remained looking in his. Methos nodded, then looked once again at his wife before he finally left the room to give them some privacy. He walked into their garden until he stood in front of the red roses, that were already beginning to fade, and allowed himself to feel the burning pain of loss.

Methos stood there for about one hour until Darius approached. Without saying a word, Darius took him into a warm hug and both man reminded that way for several minutes until Darius finally stepped back. He looked into Methos's eyes. "She is a very brave woman. But now she needs you… When this is over I will be there for you, my friend. You will not be alone in your loss…But now you have to be strong for her." Methos managed a smile and nodded in agreement; then he hurried back to his wife.

The next day, she died. He had stayed with her to end, had held her and whispered into her ear how much he loved her. She had not been able to answer because she had drifted into delirium already. But Methos knew that she no longer had feared Death after Darius had talked to her. He had taken away the fear. Methos was very grateful for that.

They buried her a day later under a large oak. The sky was shadowed with dark rain clouds and it was very cold. Methos stood in front of the grave, his tears mixing with the rain. He felt very cold – and that not only because of the weather. Kneeling down in front of the grave without caring for the dirt, he took a single red rose out of his coat and lay it down onto the grave.

"A rose for my beautiful rose," he whispered with tears in his voice. Then he closed his eyes and reminded in silence.

He sat there for a long time, his clothes totally wet, when he felt the presence of another Immortal. He opened his eyes and looked to Darius, who was standing next to him. The priest smiled a very sad smile while his eyes showed the sympathy he felt for his friend. "I am so sorry, my friend," he whispered with his gentle voice, "so terribly sorry."

Darius knelt down next to Methos and took his friend into his arms. Methos suddenly began to cry as the priest's gentleness finally broke the walls that Methos had built in his heart. He cried and cried and was not able to stop. The whole time, Darius said nothing. He only held the whimpering form of his friend and stroked his hair with his gentle hands.

Methos finally broke the hug and wiped away the last tears. "Thank you for being here for me," Methos whispered, his voice stronger now. "Thank you so much."

"Always, my friend, always." Darius nodded with a slight smile.

Both men stared into each other's eyes for some seconds before Methos finally got up and walked away. The lonely figure of the priest reminded behind him in the rain.

**End of flashback-----------------------------------------------**

Blinking, Death found himself back in Lander's house. "I need a beer," he thought and went to the refrigerator where he helped himself to a cool bottle. Taking a deep sip, he forced himself to concentrate on the present again.

Then he went to the watcher's old, wooden desk and ransacked its drawers in search for anything interesting. He found a copy of parts of Darius chronicles together with a paper that described Darius's daily routine. Next to it he also found a small address book that he began to study. He recognized the names of several watchers.

Stowing the book into his coat, he then looked at his watch: it was almost 8 p.m. Landers would very likely arrive soon. Taking the beer with him, Death walked into the living room and made himself comfortable in on of the watcher's easy chairs. He then took the Walter PPK out of his coat and screwed the silencer to it. Taking another sip of his beer, Death waited.

About 15 minutes later, he heard a noise at he front door. Lander was home. Death heard the click of the closing door, then the rustle of clothes as they were being removed. Footsteps walked though the house, then another door closed. Death relaxed back in his chair when he heard the sound of running water. Apparently the watcher was taking a shower. Taking another sip of his beer, he thought, "No need to hurry. Unlike you, Lander, I have plenty of time." Very patiently, Death waited until Lander finished and entered the living room, drying his still wet hair with a towel.

"Hi," Death greeted with his best Adam Pierson voice, young and innocent while he hid the weapon behind his back. "Thought I would pay you a visit so we can have our conversation about old Immortals."

"What?" Lander asked totally perplexed. Obviously not believing his eyes, he shook his head in confusion. "How…I mean…what are you doing in my house?...And who had let you in?"

"Oh, I let myself in," Death smiled with Adam's face. "You don't mind, or do you?" he asked with an innocent voice while he shyly lowered his eyelashes.

"I…," Lander finally found his voice.

Suddenly, the Walter PPK appeared in Death's hands and his eyes turned very cold. "No, I don't think that you mind," Death said with a mocking voice, that was now several tones deeper than before, and also lacked Adam Pierson's English accent.

Lander inhaled deeply at the sight of the weapon. "What do you want?" he managed to ask with a surprisingly steady, strong voice. This man was obviously not easy to intimidate, he had courage – Death really admired that. Only a few people had ever risked messing with Death.

"Oh, I want lots of things," Death grinned evilly " I want good beer, warm weather, a beautiful girlfriend… but at the moment I want answers… I also want you to sit down on this chair in front of me." He reached into his coat and drew two pairs of handcuffs out. "Put these on," he ordered as he threw them to the watcher.

Although glaring angrily at the other man, Lander obeyed and secured himself with the handcuffs to the chair. After he had finished, Death smiled at him. "You have spirit," he admired the watcher. "I like that, it's so much more fun… And now I want some answers…answers concerning Darius's death."

With the last words, Death examined the other man very closely. When he mentioned the priest's name, he noticed a small flicker in the watcher's eyes.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Lander lied. If Death hadn't been certain that the man was one of Darius killers, he may have believed the other man because he was very convincing. Lander's voice was steady and even his face didn't betray him. He was a very good liar – Death had to give him credit for that.

"Don't try to fool me, " Death interrupted him a bit disappointed. "I know that you helped kill Darius. I heard your voice… don't even try to deny it." As he said last words, he stared directly into the other's eyes, his eyes flashing with a cold golden fire until the other man no longer was able to stand his look and finally lowered his head. Looking down on the floor, Lander thought about his situation and then came to a decision.

"Ok, you're right," he then confessed defiantly. " Yes," he hissed, "I was there and I helped to kill the Immortal scum…" Looking up at Death, his eyes burned now with a crazy fire while his voice shook with hate. "They are scum, murdering bastards… they are nothing but freaks." His voice rose in hate. "They want to rule the world, we have to do something before they control us."

If the whole situation hadn't been so sad, Death would have laughed at the other man. "Stupid, little man," he shouted in rising anger. "You know nothing about Immortals…Rule the world?…Do you think that Darius wanted to rule the world? Has he done anything that indicated that way? …No, Darius was a good man, a holy man. He devoted his life to mortals…he was helping them."

"He was a murdering bastard. I read his chronicle, and I know who he really was. He may have been hiding behind holy walls but that only was a lie - a lie to fool us. He was a killer, he had slaughtered and raped thousands of men and women, had plundered hundreds of cities and villages. GENERAL Darius he was, and not BROTHER Darius," Lander shouted with hate-filled eyes.

"You are a young researcher, Adam. You never witnessed them kill other people. They even kill each other like animals do," he spat. Then his voice lowered while he tried to persuade the young man in front of him. "As I said before, Adam, you are young and you are a researcher. You don't see what we field agents see. They are killers, Adam, they kill all the time…They want to rule the world," he tried to convince the man in front of him. "You are a clever young man, Adam. We could use someone like you… Join us and we will save mankind together."

Death clenched his fists to stop himself from killing the other man immediately. Taking some deep breaths, he finally managed to cool his temper. Then, he coldly shook his head. "No, as I said before, you know nothing about US." Emphasizing the last word, Death let an evil smile appear on his cold face while he gave the other man time to understand the meaning of his words.

Death looked into the Lander's eyes and saw a small flicker there when the words finally registered in the his mind.

"What?" Lander managed to say. "What do you mean 'us'?…you are a watcher, Adam."

"Oh," Death grinned, "I am so sorry to correct you, George, but it seems that I am one of the freaks, you hate so much."

"But…," he whispered in total disbelief, "you…you are a watcher. You cannot be Immortal."

"Oh, believe me," Death said with a mocking voice " I am Immortal." With a very fast movement he pulled a dagger out of his jeans. "You want proof?…ok, here, have your proof." With that, he sliced the dagger over his palm. Blood welled up for a second before small flashes of light appeared and the wound closed in front of the watcher's shocked eyes.

"You look a little stunned, George," Death giggled "Are you all right?"

The expression on the Lander's face was that of pure horror now. The eyes were wide and full of fear. "No," he whispered. "You betrayed us…you are one of them." Then, his face hardened and Death saw traces of defiance appear in the his eyes. His voice was steady when he finally answered, "I will tell you nothing, you scum. My colleagues will discover you and then they will kill you like the rest of your cursed race…Do what you want with me, I will not betray my kind."

Smiling evilly, Death sat back into his chair and eyed the other man very closely. Then, he pulled a syringe with a blue coloured liquid out of his coat and held it in front of the other man's eyes. "OK," he then said, " this is a very interesting little poison. Injected with it, you will only have about two hours left before you die a very painful death. First, you will feel rising warmth in your body and you will sweat very much. Your heartbeat will speed up and breathing will become difficult for you. Then, your inner organs will swell and at some point begin to bleed." Death smiled. "But by this time you almost will have made it. When finally blood will drop out of every single pore of your body, you will only have a few minutes left to live."

Taking another sip of his almost empty beer, Death grinned at Lander. "Oh, have I mentioned yet, that the whole process will be very painful?…

…Or," Death took another syringe, filled with a yellow liquid, out of his coat and placed it on the table between them. "you can tell me everything I want to know and I inject you with the antidote…It's up to you."

Looking into the Lander's now very pale face, he still could see the other's stubbornness there. "You are bluffing," the he managed to say with a slightly shaking voice. "And if not, this will change nothing…I will not tell you anything."

Death really had to admire the watcher's courage and loyalty. He would have liked to have met this man under other circumstances. He grabbed the syringe, went to the other man and quickly injected him with the liquid. The watcher had no chance against him and could only stare at him with wide eyes. Then, Death turned and walked in the direction of the refrigerator.

Halfway there, he turned back to his captive and asked with a very false smile "Oh, where are my manners? I am going to have a beer, do you want one, too?…No? But you don't mind that I have one, do you?" Not waiting for his captive to answer, he went to the refrigerator and pulled out one beer, he opened it immediately.

After taking a sip, he returned and made himself comfortable in the easy chair. Taking one of Lander's old books, he looked at the watcher. "If you change your mind, feel free to disturb me. But don't wait to long." He grinned and then began to read the book.

Thirty minutes later, sweat covered Lander's whole body and face. He breathed heavily and his eyes were wide with fear. "Ok…ok," he finally obeyed with a fear-shaking voice "give me the antidote and I will tell you what you want to know…I don't want to die."

"Ok," Death smiled, "but I want the information first, then you can have the antidote."

"Please," the watcher pleaded with fear. "I don't want to die." He stared into Death's cold eyes and saw no mercy there. "Ok," he then agreed quickly, "ask, I will tell you everything."

"Great," Death grinned. "Let's start with the names of your companions…"

About 20 minutes later, when he knew everything he wanted to know, he took the syringe from the table and emptied the liquid in front of Lander's horrified eyes into the air. He enjoyed the expression he saw on his face: it was the mask of pure horror.

"Oops, " Death grinned as he put the now empty syringe back into his pocket. "What a pity. Looks like it's empty now."

"What…," the watcher stammered with horror-stricken eyes. "What have you done?" He sobbed. "You…No," he shook his head in denying terror. "No…"

"Hey," Death interrupted him after a few seconds with an evil smile, "calm down." I lied to you. The liquid I injected you with, was totally harmless. It only causes your temperature to rise and your heartbeat to speed up a bit - but otherwise it's totally harmless…I mean were would I get such a poison?" He grinned and shook his head in amusement.

Fascinated, he watched the emotions that crossed his captive's face. First, there was only horror, then, it changed to relief when Death's last words registered, and at the end, it turned into anger as the watcher realized that he had been tricked. "You…," he began to shout in hate but was suddenly interrupted by the sight of the Walter PPK Death pointed at him.

"Thank you for all the information – you helped me very much," Death smiled with false friendliness in his voice. "I am very sorry that I have to end our conversation now but I have other important things to do – like plan how to kill your colleagues…So, goodbye."

"What?…No," the other stammered with wide eyes. "You said you would spare my life….You promised," he pleaded.

"Have I?…Really…You are right, it seems…But I tell you what: I am a liar, I always lie. It's one of the things I do best." Death grinned very evilly at his captive then pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the other man in his head and killed him almost immediately. The last thing the watcher saw was the evil grin on Death's face.

Tucking the handcuffs, the syringe and the beer into his coat, Death erased all evidence of his visit and left into the night.


	6. 6

**Flashback---------------------------------------------------**

**412 C.E., Paris**

"No...no," Methos shook his head in denial. "You must be wrong." He turned and faced the other Immortal, a black haired Frenchman.

"I saw it with my own eyes…The Goth General beheaded him with one single blow while he was laughing at him… He didn't give him the chance to explain, instead, he called him a stupid fool…," the other whispered with a shaking voice while tears glittered in his eyes. "Emrys didn't have the slightest chance… I saw the quickening, it was bigger than any quickening I have ever seen before. There is no doubt that he is dead. "

"No."

"He is dead, Methos, we have to accept that."

Turning again, Methos stared out of the window (note: or what was called a window at this time). Outside, he could see some children playing on the dirty street. Their faces were full of mud and their clothes looked more like rags than clothes.

Methos closed his eyes – Paris would fall soon. After 6 weeks of being besieged by General Darius's army, they were running out of food and fresh drinking water. It was only a matter of time till the first epidemic would spread. No, there was no future for the city and it's people. His friend had known that, too, and had wanted to talk to the Goth General.

Methos had tried to reason with his friend, had told him that it was senseless to speak with the General, that he would only endanger his live, but his friend wouldn't listen. He believed that everybody had a good core and that he only had to reach this core in Darius to make him spare the city. Obviously, he had been wrong, and he had paid his failure with his life - murdered by the Gothic barbarian.

Methos had heard of the man before, the Goth had a very bad reputation that was spreading very quickly. It was said that he destroyed everything around him, killing, raping and plundering everybody and everything that crossed his path. Methos had known that they should have left Paris immediately as the rumours of Darius's near army were whispered with fearful voices in the city. But Emrys had wanted to stay, not wanting to leave the people alone with their fate. And now he was dead.

Methos moaned as he felt burning anger rise in him. He could feel Death come to the surface but refused to surrender. He had sworn never to become this man again. Focusing his thoughts back on his murdered friend again, he remembered how they had met.

It had not been long after he had left the horsemen, when he heard rumours of a very old Immortal, - allegedly the oldest of all Immortals. Knowing that such a strong quickening would rise his chances in the game multiple times, Methos had decided to pay the Immortal a visit.

He had followed the traces and rumours, and finally found himself eye to eye with the other man. Immediately overwhelmed by the other man's presence, he no longer wanted his head but what was inside. The other Immortal had been full of wisdom and goodness, and had allowed Methos to stay and become his student. Showing him the beauty of the world again, the other finally had managed to open Methos's heart to love again. He had guided Methos out of the darkness of 1000 years of killing with the horseman, back into the world of living. It had not been easy and a long way, but they had both succeeded. And now this man, his friend and teacher was dead by the hands of the Goth and would never return.

Clenching his right fist until blood dropped onto the floor, Methos made a decision. He would not let the barbarian keep his friend's quickening, his essence…No, he would go and take back what rightfully belonged to him.

When it was night, he used one of the few concealed tunnels that lead out of Paris, and crept into the General's camp. He was surprised how easy it was to slip between the enemy tents. Nobody paid him much attention; instead, the enemy seemed frozen. Very irritated by this unusual behaviour but not really caring in his hate, Methos hurried to the General's tent.

Knowing that he couldn't take the General's head right in front of all the mortals, Methos had brought a sack with him. He planned to kill the General only temporary and then put him into the sack. After that, he planned to take one of the horses that were standing nearby, and ride out of the camp hopefully without being seen.

The moment he sensed the other's presence, he hurried to the tent and immediately entered when he saw no Guards standing there. Several candles lit the tent, his eyes needed a second to adjust to the light. First, he thought that the tent was empty but then his eyes saw a small figure kneeling on the ground. The figure had his head down and held his hands before his eyes. Methos was not sure, but thought he heard quiet sobs.

Methos stared for some heartbeats at the figure. At first, he thought the man to be a beaten servant, but when he got a better look, he realized that this miserable creature in front of him was the General himself. For a moment, he was perplexed. Then, the face of his murdered friend appeared in his mind and burning anger rose in him. He drew his sword with a very determined expression on his face. With two quick steps he stood in front of the general, rose his sword…

…and suddenly found himself looking into familiar eyes – the eyes of his friend. He blinked in confusion but the impression in the other man's eyes didn't change. Methos was sure that these eyes belonged to Emrys.

"What?" he whispered totally shocked while his fingers lost the strength to hold the sword. He heard the noise as it hit the floor but his mind was totally blank.

"Who are you?" Methos finally managed to whisper as he backed away. The other man looked at him and Methos could now see tears glitter in the other man's sorrowful eyes.

"I am so sorry," he then heard a gentle voice that was full of pain and regret. "Please forgive me…"

For a moment, there was only silence in the tent. Then, the other man bent forward, picked up the sword, Methos had dropped, and lifted it to his own bare throat while he let the hilt point in Methos direction.

Looking up into Methos face again, he then whispered with a pleading voice, "Do it…I murdered your friend…I deserve this…Kill me…finish, what you came to do."

Each stared into the other's eyes for a time that felt like eternity to Methos. He cried for Death to rise and avenge his friend but there was no hate left in him – only emptiness. He had come to kill a monster but had found…he couldn't say. Finally making his decision, he backed away until he reached the tent's exit, not breaking their eye contact. Then he turned and ran. He didn't stop until he reached the borders of France.

**End of flashback--------------------------------------------------**


	7. 7

**Next day, Death's flat**

Death sat in his easy chair and stared at the list in front of him. He had written down the names of the watchers, Lander had given him the day before. One name he had already crossed out: Lander.

Letting his eyes wander over the other names, he finally stopped at one name: Sean O'Brien. Death recognized the name because Sean O'Brien happened to be the vice-director of French headquarters – a very high-ranking man with many connections and great power.

Death hacked into the watcher database and loaded Sean O'Brien's file. According to it, the man had been a field watcher for about 33 years before he was called back to HQ five years ago. He had watched only two Immortals during the years. His first assignment had been a 120-year-old woman that had been killed shortly after by the Kurgan. His other assignment still appeared to be alive, although his high killing rate seemed to be an indicator that the Immortal was a Hunter.

Examining O'Brien's picture a little bit closer, he saw a grey haired man of about 59 years. His skin looked very white and a little bit bloated while his eyes had the colour of very light aqua; all in all not a very attractive package.

Death searched for any entry concerning O'Brien's family or relatives, but found none. He almost missed a small link to another document that required a high-level code. Not that this could stop Death – he needed a little longer to hack it, but in the end the file appeared on his screen.

Very curious about what he was to discover, he began to read …and found himself disappointed as he finally finished. The document mentioned a gay relationship between O'Brien and another watcher about 35 years ago. It seemed that a teacher caught them in action at the watcher academy. It had been a big scandal at that time, and the other man involved had been moved to another Department. O'Brien apparently hadn't suffered any consequence – obviously, he had good connections.

Two hours later, Death stood next to O'Brien's office, that was located in the fifth story at watcher HQ, and waited. Because it was 12 pm., he expected the other to leave his office soon to go to dinner.

He only had to wait ten minutes before the O'Brien's door opened and he could see the big figure leave his office. Death noticed slight traces of sweat on the other man's face as O'Brien hurried towards the elevator.

Behind him, Death also hurried to jump into the elevator at the last moment before it's doors closed. In there, Death smiled with his young and innocent Adam Pierson face at the other man as he greeted him shyly. Lowering his eyelashes, he pretended to play nervously with the books, he held in his arms.

Death had planned this meeting in every detail. He wanted the other man to notice him. That was the reason he wore a green shirt that not only emphasized the colour of his green eyes but also the strength of his body.

Although both men reminded silent, Death could feel the other man examine him very closely. He looked up and let a shy smile appear on his face when he saw that the other man was smiling very friendlily in his direction.

A few moments later, the elevator stopped and Death stepped out. Pretending to stumble, he let go of his books and fell to the floor while he let a cry of pain escape his mouth. When he looked up with pain-wide eyes, he saw the other man hurry to him while his face showed a very concerned expression.

"Everything all right?" he heard the gentle voice of the other man asking when O'Brien knelt down next to him and began to search for any injuries. "Have you hurt yourself?"

"No, I'm ok," Death moaned through gritted teeth. "It hurts a little, but I am sure it's nothing." He let a slight smile appear on his face when he looked into the other man's face. "Really, I'm all right." When he saw only concern in the man's eyes, he was sure that O'Brien had bought his act.

Pretending to try to get up, he then cried once again before he let himself fall to the floor again. There, he held his left leg while his face grimaced in pain. "Ahhh… maybe I have sprained my leg," he then moaned while he looked with puppy-wide eyes into the other's now even more concerned face.

"Come," the other said very gently, "let me help you. I'll take you to my office and we will call the doctor for you. Your leg has to be examined." With that, helped him up, and supported him back into the elevator, obviously trying to avoid causing any new pain.

A few minutes later, both men sat in O'Brien's office while the doctor examined Death's leg. "I can't find any visible injury," the doctor said after a few minutes of examination. "I don't think you have broken anything. But it's very likely that you sprained your leg. I'll give you an ice bag you can put on it, it should prevent it from swelling. It would be also very good if you wouldn't walk around the next hour."

After the doctor had left, Death looked up into O'Brien's now very relieved face and said with a very shy voice, "I'm so sorry that I caused so much trouble … I really want to thank you for your kind help…"

A very generous smile appeared on the watcher's face while he shook his head. "It goes without saying…Tell you what, you give me the number of your superior and I let my secretary call him and tell him what happened to you – he should not concern himself about your whereabouts. My driver then will take you home in an hour."

"But I," Death whispered with an unsure voice, "I really don't want to cause any more trouble."

"No, no," the other man laughed. "You don't…I have some free time. You can stay here. We could talk a bit about our work and have a drink…What do you think?"

Death only smiled at him very gratefully. "OK."

When O'Brien turned to order the drinks, the face of Adam Pierson disappeared for a second and revealed a very dangerous one instead. The former young looking eyes now held a very cold expression as they followed the other man's back. "This is so easy," Death thought and grinned evilly.

During their conversation, Death very carefully placed some hints of how he regarded Immortals. In the end, the other man had to have the impression that he regarded Immortals as abnormal and liked them not very much. After one hour, they finally said goodbye to each other and O'Brien's driver brought Death home.

One day later, Death got a call from O'Brien. He asked if Adam's leg was all right and if they could meet to have a drink and continue their interesting conversation. Death grinned - apparently everything went exactly the way he had planned. The other man obviously had taken his bait.


	8. 8

**Dream**

Methos found himself standing in a garden of red roses. The sun was shining above him, and there was not a single cloud at the sky. When he heard the laughter of a woman behind him, he turned and found himself looking into Joan's beautiful blue eyes. She smiled at him with eyes full of love. "My love," he heard her voice as she came closer and began to caress his face.

The next moment, her smile suddenly vanished and turned into a very sad expression instead. "You must stop," he heard her now very concerned voice while he watched a glittering tear run down her beautiful cheek.

Very confused, Methos wanted to ask what she meant but his voice refused to obey him. He tried to touch her, but her body became transparent and vanished in front of his wide eyes.

He blinked in confusion and found himself suddenly in Darius's church, eye-to-eye with the priest. The other man's face was full of concern. "Stop this," he heard his friend say with his gentle voice. "Please, you have to stop… Don't avenge my death – I don't want you to kill for me…Live, love, be happy – do not hate."

"Listen to him," Methos heard another voice, coming from his left side. When the other stepped into the light, Methos recognized Emrys. His former teacher and friend looked at him with pleading eyes as he continued "Please, old friend, you have to turn away from hate before it's too late for you. There is not much left between you and darkness…and if you cross the thin line, there will be no way back for you…Come back into the light, rescue yourself."

Methos, totally confused by the whole situation, wanted to answer but suddenly watched Darius draw a sword and behead Emrys with one single blow - right in front of Methos's aghast eyes. While Methos stared in shock at his friend's beheaded body – not believing his sins? - five men in dark clothes appeared out of nowhere. Recognizing the faces of Landers and O'Brien between them, Methos then witnessed how the men immediately attacked the priest, overwhelmed him and held him to the floor. Then, another figure rose a sword and beheaded Darius. Blinking in shock, Methos then saw the figures vanishing right in front of his eyes as if they had never existed – leaving only the dead bodies of his friends behind.

A second later, laughter echoed inside the church and Methos noticed a man standing in the shadows. When the man stepped into the light, Methos stared at his own face – only the other's was painted blue.

"Don't listen to them," he then heard his own very cold voice and saw the other point at his dead friends. "They were fools, and now they are dead…But you are not. Love," the other then laughed mockingly. "Love is for fools…What good has love done you?…It only had brought you pain…Every single time you let yourself feel love, you've only got pain at the end….Again and again."

"No," Methos whispered in denial.

"No?" the other asked. "Then let me show you why you created me."

With that, Methos found himself standing in the desert. In front of him he noticed nine tents and some people, that were clothed in animal skins. As Methos walked closer, he recognized the people as the nomad tribe he had belonged to about 4300 ago. Watching a woman, who came out of one of the tents, he recognized her face as the one of his former wife. He remembered that he had been married to her only for about 4 years, before…

… before the tribe had been attacked by enemies and all members had been murdered. With shocked eyes, he then once again witnessed the attack. He watched his past-self fight and die, saw the murdering of his people, witnessed how the women were raped before finally being killed, and then saw how the attackers plundered their belongings. Not being able to interfere, Methos could only watch and then stare at his own dead body.

After a few minutes, he noticed his past-self come back to life. When the other registered what the enemy had done to his people, he took his wife's dead body into his arms and began to scream "No, no, no,…..NO." Again and again the same word. At the beginning quiet, full off sorrow and pain, then louder and louder and at the end full of hate. As the other finally looked up, Methos saw that the face was now painted blue and that the former kind eyes had turned ice-cold.

The other smiled at him. "Love only brought you pain. That's why you created me in the first place – because you couldn't stand the pain any longer."

Methos watched as the other got up and walked closer until they stood in front of each other.

The other smiled and offered Methos a hand. "Take my hand, together we will leave the pain behind," he whispered.

While Methos stared at his own face, the dead faces of his friends and lovers appeared before his eyes and he heard their voices whisper in his head. He identified Darius's and Emrys' voice, crying that he should not take the offered hand, that he should not surrender to darkness ;but the voices got weaker and then finally died.

"No more pain," he heard his own cold voice whisper seductively.

"Yes," Methos heard himself whisper and took the hand…and found himself standing in a dark room with a mirror. When he looked into it, he saw his own reflection staring back at him with cold eyes - his face painted in blue. Then he woke up. Death shook his head while he sat up in his bed, "what a strange dream," he thought before he laid back to sleep again.


	9. 9

**Three weeks later**

Three weeks later, two more men had been crossed out off Death's list. The first watcher had suffered a deadly car accident because the brakes of his car had failed and he crashed into a tree. The car had began to burn and the man hadn't been able to leave his car – he had been burned alive. The police still hadn't found the reason for the fire but Death knew.

The other watcher had spent his last hours in a cold-storage room before he finally froze to death. Death had followed him for several days before he had knocked him cold and dragged him to the cold-storage room. There, he left him after he had made sure that the man had understood why he was going to die.

Now, it was time for the next name on his list: Robert de Ville, a Frenchman of about 34 years. Death had already observed the man for several days now. Apparently, the watcher had a daily routine. Every day he visited a pub called Murphy's at 9.30 p.m. to meet with some friends. Because the pub was very near to his flat (about 20 minutes), he walked there every day.

This evening, he was followed by Death. Death waited outside, hiding in the shadows while he observed the pub with cold eyes. When De Ville finally left after saying goodbye to his friends, Death followed behind.

**A small empty street**

De Ville froze, when he suddenly heard quiet footsteps behind him. He had reached a small street, which was covered in shadows. Becoming painfully aware that the street was dark and empty of any other people, he sped up while his heart began to beat a little bit faster. He was not really afraid yet, but there was a slight feeling of uneasiness in his stomach.

Suddenly, the footsteps became louder and faster. De Ville stopped and turned while fear began to rise in his stomach. But there was nobody behind him. Shaking his head and trying to relax, he then continued his way. He had only two streets to cross, then he would be home and safe, he tried to reassure himself.

The footsteps suddenly stopped and the only sound he could hear now was his own beating heart. Then, he heard them once again, this time very near. He began to panic and ran…almost into the arms of a man who suddenly appeared in front of him, right of nowhere.

De Ville almost cried out in relief when he saw the man's young and harmless face…until he noticed the Walter PPK in the young man's hand.

"Hello," he heard the man greet him with a very cold voice. The impression of youth totally gone now as De Ville looked into the other's face.

"What do you want?" De Ville managed to whisper in fear while he tried to back away. "You can have everything…please, take my money…I'll give you my watch… but don't hurt me."

"Oh," an evil grin appeared on the man's face. " I am not interested in your money, Jean-Claude, … no, I am far more interesting in your life instead."

"What?" De Ville stammered, "I don't understand".

As fear and confusion filled him, he heard the man laugh – it was a very evil laugh. "Yes…that's the whole problem, isn't it?" the man said with a mocking voice. "You and your friends understand nothing…Let me explain to you, why we have this conversation," he then spat. "You killed a friend of mine, a very good and very old friend." His eyes burning now in golden fury, he emphasized the last words and De Ville suddenly understood.

"And I don't have so many friends left that I can afford to lose one," the man continued with an angry voice while he stepped closer. "You murdered a good man, a holy man. A man who was absolutely defenseless. A harmless priest who had done nothing to you."

De Ville shuddered; he couldn't think clearly any longer, there was only fear left now. Trying to back away a little bit more, he found himself eye-to-eye again with the deadly Immortal. "Please," he tried to whisper but only managed a croak. Looking in the other' man's face, he saw no mercy there, only Death. He knew that he would not leave this street alive.

"Please?" he heard the man say with an angry voice. "Did you answered Darius's plea?…No, you laughed in his face…Why should I show more mercy…" Then, he watched in slow motion how the other pointed the gun at his face and pulled the trigger. A burning pain exploded in his left side and he felt himself fall to the street, where he weakly lay in the dirt. Burning pain consumed him. A part of him - that watched the whole scene as if it didn't concern him - watched the other man then kneel down in front of him and caress his face with one hand.

"How does it feel to know that Death is waiting for you?" the other whispered. "Can you feel the cold yet?"

De Ville tried to answer but found himself too weak already. He felt very cold and then darkness claimed him. The last thing he saw was the smiling face of his killer.

Death looked coldly at the dead body before him. The man had gotten what he deserved. He looked up and…

…stared into the eyes of a small child standing in front of him. The child was clothed in rags and its face was covered in dirt. The kid also had some blood from some obvious recent injuries. The kid couldn't be much older than 6 years, although his eyes were empty. The child did not fear Death, Death was not his nightmare – only loneliness.

Death blinked in confusion when he saw the face of the Decourt boy appear in front of his eyes. He watched the boils appear on the boy's face, saw himself try to help the boy and fail. He remembered himself working as a doctor, trying to helped the children that had the plague, saw him crying together with his wife Joan about the dead children, they weren't able to save.

Then, the faces of other children appeared in his mind, children he had been able to rescue. They smiled at him and… something cracked in Methos. He looked down at his hands that were covered in blood and became aware of what he had done, what kind of creature he had become again.

"No," he heard himself whisper with a pain broken voice. "No." When he looked up again, the child was still standing in front of him. Looking into the child's eyes, a hot tear ran down his cheek while he only felt sorrow – sorrow for the child and sorrow for himself.

After a time that felt like eternity, he finally got up and offered a hand to the child. "Come," he whispered with a gentle voice. "Don't be afraid. I will not hurt you, nobody will. Come with me, this is not a place for you."

The child hesitated for a second, but then took Methos's offered hand when it saw something in Methos's eyes. Both walked in silence to Methos's flat, where Methos began to take care of the child. He cleaned it, examined its not healed injuries and gave it some food. The whole time, the child said not a single word; it only stared with wide eyes at Methos.

When finally Methos took a small soft toy, he had once gotten from Don, and gave it to the child, a slight smile appeared on its face. This was the moment, Methos remembered why he had himself let fall in love again and again – because he needed not only to love but also to be loved. He needed to see joy in another's face that was caused by him. He needed the love to feel alive.

At this moment, Darius face appeared in front of his eyes: The priest smiled at Methos, it was a smile full of love. And then Methos felt for the first time since the priest had died a genuine smile appear on his own face.


	10. 10

**Next day, Methos's flat**

Methos sighed and looked at the sleeping form of the child in his bed. He had tried to talk to the child, but still hadn't gotten one word out of it. Apparently, the child had been hurt very badly, both physically and mentally. Having been a doctor once, Methos knew how to deal with injuries but not with that kind of damage. Now, he missed the gentle priest even more; Darius would have known how to deal with this kind of situation – but Darius was dead. Methos sighed again while his thoughts drifted back to the past.

**Flashback-----------------------------------------------------------------**

**1000 C.E., France**

First, there was only darkness, no pain, only the cold. Then, he became aware of the fact that he was alive. Taking the first painful breaths into his lungs, he opened his eyes – and almost screamed as it hurt badly. He closed them again and tried to remember where he was and more important who he was.

Some terrible seconds, his mind was totally blank. Then, he remembered a name, his name: Methos. After that, the other memories came back. He remembered how he had ridden with a group of men and women to St. Valinto, a small French village, where he had planned to visit an old friend.

But they had never made it there. He remembered being drawn into an ambush by a band of robbers. Two men had attacked him at the same time while a third had stabbed him in his back with a dagger. He had fallen to the ground, and had watched how one of his attackers pulled a knife out of his clothes and embedded it right into his heart. He knew that he had died; remembered the blackness that had claimed him.

Suddenly, he felt an Immortal presence. He tried to open his eyes again while he searched for his sword. But he wasn't able to move his hand it refused to obey him. Confused he then became aware of his surroundings. He no longer lay on the ground he had fallen to, but found himself lying in a bed instead. Next to him were a wooden chair and a table on which he noticed a book. When he focused his eyes on it he recognized it as a bible. Letting his eyes then wander through the room, he also saw a small wooden closet and a crucifix that was hanging over the bed.

Feeling the Immortal presence coming nearer, he tried to sit up, but found himself too weak to. When he turned his head to the door, he got a look at his arm: it looked much smaller than he remembered it to be, as if he had lost lots of weight. " Weird," he thought.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the door opened and a man, clothed in a brown robe, stepped in. "Hello," he heard the monk's gentle voice greet him. Methos smiled and…

…and found himself starring into a very familiar face – a face he would never forget, the face of his teacher's killer: Darius's face.

Suddenly, there was a mix of panic, fear, confusion and anger in him. He wanted at the same time to back away and rush upon the other. But he was not able to, his muscles refused to obey him. He could only continue to lay weakly in his bed and stare at the other.

"No," he finally croaked, "no, not you, no."

"Please," he then heard the other's voice, it was very gentle with a noticeable trace of sorrow and pain. "Please, I will not hurt you…I'm here to help you. Please let me explain."

Methos was completely captured by panic now: he found himself weak and vulnerable lying in this bed, without any weapons to defend himself, and eye-to-eye with his teacher's killer – although the other didn't seem to be a danger to him. "No," he whispered.

"Please," Darius tried to reason with him. "Calm down. Let me explain."

"No, go away…you killed my teacher, go away." Methos closed his eyes and refused to listen any longer.

He heard the sound of a deep sigh, then the gentle voice again, "all right. I will leave… I will tell another monk to look after you." When Methos refused to open his eyes, he once again heard a deep sigh before the door finally was closed.

A few minutes later, another monk entered. He looked at Methos and smiled. "Brother Darius told me to explain to you why you are here…I don't know how much you remember, but you are very lucky that you are still alive. My brothers and I were on our way to the abbey when brother Darius suddenly stopped us. He said that he had heard some noise. He told us to wait while he wanted to go and look. We watched him disappear into a small wood. Some minutes later, he came back and told us about some dead bodies and broken things that he had found there. He also said that he had found a man who still appeared to be alive. We hurried in the shown direction and helped to take care of you…I am very sorry, but the others are dead, we have buried them there. You were the only one alive."

"I remember," Methos confirmed, "we had been attacked by a band of robbers… I was stabbed…" Methos felt his thoughts race when he tried to make sense of the man's words and the facts the man didn't say or know. Apparently, he had been stabbed and died. The robbers must have left the knife stuck in his heart; otherwise he would have revived long ago. He also must have laid there a long time, maybe one or two weeks, or he wouldn't feel so weak.

He shuddered as he became aware that he had really been very lucky. Had not the monk but another Immortal crossed his path, he would most likely have lost his head; or maybe an animal would have eaten him - not a death he had planned for himself. Methos didn't like the thought, but it seemed that he had to thank Darius for saving his life.

A week later, he felt completely restored again. The monks had fed him and given him new clothes. Because he had not met Darius the whole time, he asked one of the other monks his whereabouts. He was told that Darius was staying in one of the nearby small villages, where he helped to nurse the sick.

Methos did not know why he went there, or what he expected to find, but an hour later he stood in a big room that contained a lot of beds. Several monks were walking around, taking care of the sick people who were lying in the beds. Suddenly Methos noticed Darius with a small boy. The monk held the boy in his arms, while he whispered something into his ear. Although the boy seemed very ill he smiled at the monk.

A second later, Darius looked up right in Methos's direction. Both man stared into each other's eyes and Methos recognized Emrys' love there. No, he finally had to admit to himself, this man was not the Goth general any longer - that man would never have cared for the boy the way Darius did now. No, he had changed he was a completely different man now. He was a man with whom Methos had no quarrel. Methos nodded to the monk and then left the building.

He stood outside and watched some children playing as he heard a noise behind him. It was Darius who stepped closer until he stood next to him. Both man watched in silence the children in front of them. "I have to thank you," Methos finally whispered, "for saving my life." He looked into Darius's gentle eyes. "You changed, you are no longer the man you used to be…I recognize my teacher in you…He is not lost, and for that I forgive you."

He saw the flicker of hope in the other man's eyes when he extended one hand and offered it to Darius. "I forgive you," he repeated as the monk took his hand. Then, Methos turned and walked away.

"Maybe another time?" he heard the gentle voice ask behind him.

Methos turned back and smiled. "Yes, maybe." With that, he turned again and continued on his way.

**Flashback End**-------------------------------------------------------


	11. 11

_Thank you for your reply, Village-Mystic._

_Why write this story: I like the dark side of Methos. I wanted a story about Death; so, I needed a good reason for Death to come out and play. I thought that Methos must surly have known Darius and that he must have heard of his murdering.The whole story was first not planned the way I have written it: the whole Darius/Methos flashbacks for example haven't been planned. And at the end, I wanted the Horsemen to ride again._

_To your other question: No, I have not planned something in this direction, but who knows?_

_PS: I have corrected the mistakes (change/ chance), thanks again to you_

Methos sat in his easy chair and stared at the list in front of him. From his bedroom, he could hear quiet sounds of the sleeping child. Methos sighed deeply; he would take care of the child later, now he had another urgent problem to solve. Pushing his thoughts about the child away, he forced himself to focus on the list again.

There were only two names listed that hadn't been crossed out already: Sean O'Brien and James Horton. Methos stared at the first name and sighed in discomfort. During the last weeks, he had met O'Brien several times because he had planned to build a relationship with him. He had thought that he could so sound some information about the other hunters out of him.

The problem was that the plan had backfired at him: as he had come to know the other man, he had also begun to like him. O'Brien had not shown any signs of a reckless and brutal killer, instead, he seemed to be a very gentle and nice guy, who cared deeply for the people around him; a guy Methos really liked and wanted to have as a friend.

A killer and not a nice guy, Methos had to force himself to remember. It was fact that the he had helped kill Darius, and would probably kill other Immortals if not stopped.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he wished himself to another place, a place where he was free of any problems. He remained in silence for a second, his eyes closed while he listened to the sounds the boy made in his sleep. Yesterday, he simply would have killed the O'Brien without even blinking and then continued with Horton; but the boy had changed everything. He was tired of killing, of the blood on his hands, the expression of horror he had seen in his victims faces. He only wanted to continue with his life, no killing, no problems, no mind games, only pure simple life. But he was aware that this was not possible; Horton and his companions had to be stopped at any costs, Methos owed that to Darius.

**Three days later, O'Brien's house**

Three days later, Methos had been invited by O'Brien to supper. Although both men had met during the past weeks several times, this was the first time Methos had been invited to O'Brien's home. After showing Methos his house, both men sat down in the living room and ate supper.

After having finished, they talked a bit about Mary Shelly's "Frankenstein" as they settled down in front of the fireside with a glass of red wine. Methos would have felt very comfortable if he didn't have to confront O'Brien with Darius's murder later. Not really liking to speak about that subject, he postponed it again and again until it was late.

Finally, he took heart and looked O'Brien directly in his eyes. "Sean, do you like me?" he asked with a very calm voice.

"What?" the other asked, confusion shown in his voice and face.

"Do you like me, Sean?" Methos repeated seriously.

"Of course I like you, Adam. You are one of the most interesting and fascinating people I ever met," O'Brien answered.

"Would you consider me a friend?"

"Yes, I would consider you a friend, Adam…more than that. I'm an old man and I will never have children, but you are the son I ever wanted, Adam…But I don't understand, what is this all about?"

Methos took a deep breath, then said with a calm voice, "I have to tell you a secret, Sean…I am not like other people; I'm different…I have been called several ugly names, the last was ' abomination '".

For some seconds there was silence, Methos could see the Sean's mind working to make sense of his words. Then, a warm glimmer appeared in the other's eyes and he smiled very gentle. "You are gay," he guessed. Without giving Methos a chance to correct his assumption, he continued with a friendly smile on his face, "don't be afraid. I'm gay myself, and I know how difficult that is. If there is anybody who is able to understand you, it's me."

For a moment, Methos could see a flicker of pain at the other's face, pain mixed with sadness. "Yes," he quietly whispered to himself, "I know exactly how it is to be called abomination because you are different, to be expelled by society and to be avoided by your so-called-friends. " O'Brien spat the last words in a bitter tone.

He was silent for a moment while he stared at the floor. Then, he became aware of his surroundings again and looked up at Methos. Forcing a warm smile on his face, he explained with a gentle voice," I was caught with my lover at watcher academy." He laughed mockingly. "It was a scandal, a disaster…You must know that my father was director at the time - a director with a gay son… He was totally ashamed of me; he told me face-to-face that I was a disgrace to my family, that he would prefer any other son, a normal son, not a freak like me - my own father called me a freak!" O'Brien shook his head in disbelief while Methos could see the hurt Sean still was feeling.

"He arranged for my lover to be moved to another HQ and forbid me to have contact with him again. After that, we never talked about it." He took a deep breath before he continued with an angry voice, "but this was not the worst. As the news spread, others avoided me, I was persona-non-grata. My former friends no longer wanted to have anything to do with me…it was hell, my own private hell."

Looking into Methos's eyes again, he smiled very a very gentle smile and took Methos's hand. "But times have changed, Adam. You don't have to be afraid. I will be there for you; if anybody calls you an abomination, come to me and I will take care of him."

When Methos looked into the gentle face and heard the friendly words, he had to force himself to say the next words. "I'm not gay, Sean…I'm Immortal." As he said the last words, he watched the other man's reaction very closely. He had decided to give the him a chance, but if he failed he would have to kill him – he would have no other choice.

O'Brien's face showed disbelief first, followed a second later by amusement, "Good joke, Adam. For a second I almost believed you…But you shouldn't make this joke in front of Hor…"

"This is no joke," Methos interrupted him very seriously. "I am Immortal, Sean." To prove his words, he took a dagger out of his jeans and sliced his palm open. Then, he held his bleeding but already healing hand in front of the other man's eyes, which were wide with confusion and total disbelief.

"But," the other man stammered while he shook his head in confusion. "This can't be, this is a trick."

"No," Methos whispered very sadly, "this is no trick, Sean… I'm Immortal."

"No," O'Brien refused to accept the truth. "No…you are a watcher. Watchers aren't Immortal…You are NOT Immortal."

"Please," Methos pleaded, "let me explain."

"No, I don't want to hear your explanation," O'Brien shouted still in denial, anger now rising in his voice. "I want you to go, leave my house immediately… Get out!"

"Please," Methos once again tried to reassure him.

"No, get out." O'Brien grabbed Methos by his shoulder and tried to push him out of his living room.

"Is this the way your father treated you when he heard the truth?" Methos asked bitterly. "Did he throw you out? Was this the moment he called you an freak?"

At the last words, O'Brien froze as if something had hit him. "I," he stammered, "I…" Suddenly, he sank back into his chair. He breathed very quickly and his face had gone very pale while his eyes were wide and unfocussed. "I…," he once again tried but wasn't able to continue.

"Do you remember the hurt, the pain you had to suffer because you were different?" Methos continued with a sad voice. "You never chose to be gay, it was the way you were born…I never chose to be Immortal, I was born this way, too…You said you like me, that you almost consider me a son. I have not changed because I'm Immortal, I'm still the man you came to like…Do you want to abandon me now the way your friends abandoned you? Do you call me an abomination now? " Methos looked directly into the other's eyes. "Do you want to kill me now as you killed Darius?"

For a moment there was only silence. The other man stared at Methos. Then, he finally looked down at the floor, and Methos could see that he had reached him. O'Brien 's face softened and he closed his eyes. Methos noticed the sound of a sigh. When the he finally looked up again, there was understanding and regret showed on his face.

"No," Methos heard the sad whisper. "No," O'Brien repeated. "I don't want to kill you, Adam…You are right, you are still the same person, you haven't changed…You are still my friend, and I don't want to make the same mistake my so-called-friends made…But you are different, Adam. You are not like the other Immortals I know, you are still human. But they are not, they are killers." O'Brien continued with a more forceful voice. "They want to rule mankind, Adam, they have to be stopped."

Methos shook his head very sadly. If he couldn't convince the him, he would be forced to kill him. "No," he pleaded, "you are wrong. Immortals don't want to rule the world…We are like you, Sean. Most of us only want to live in peace as you do. …Look at the chronicles of Rebecca, can you truly say that she is evil, that she wants to rule the world? There are good Immortals and bad ones, but there are also good mortals and bad mortals…please, Sean, please understand."

O'Brien stood up and walked to the window. Starring out, he remained in silence while he considered what he had heard. A few minutes later, he turned and faced Methos. "I understand, Adam, I really do…You have risked a great deal by revealing your secret to me – I have to honour that. I give you my word that I will tell nobody…Please go now, Adam, I need some time to consider the rest, the things you said about Immortals. When I'm ready, I will let you know what I decided."

Examining the other man very closely, Methos could find only sincerity there; he truly meant what he had said. Although the survivor in Methos screamed to simply kill him and eliminate every threat to him, another voice asked him to let the other man live. Methos sighed deeply but decided to listen to the second voice; he would give the him a chance. Nodding to O'Brien, he left the house.


	12. 12

_Village-Mystic, Lady Cinnibar, thank you very much for your kind feedbacks! Lady Cinnibar: I feel honoured._

_(There will be only one more chapter to this story; maybe I will write a sequel later)_

**Evening, Methos's flat**

Methos and the boy sat in front of the TV and watched a Disney film, Methos had bought, after they had spent the whole afternoon together. They had visited the Paris Zoo, where Methos had bought the boy a toy, which looked like a tiger, and then had gone to McDonalds for supper. Whole time, the boy had smiled happily while he pressed the tiger to his body and never let it go.

It seemed to Methos that the child was finally opening up to him. Both had made progress in their relationship during the past day; he had even gotten the boy's name, it was Dennis, out of the child. Although the boy hadn't spoken more than that, Methos had seen a smile appear on the boy's face several times during the day. And the child seemed to trust him. Methos was sure that they were on the right path, time and love would heal the child's mental wounds.

The boy still held his tiger pressed to his chest and was curled up in Methos's easy chair, when suddenly the phone rang. Methos got up and went to answer; on the other end was O'Brien's familiar voice.

"Adam? It's me, O'Brien," Methos heard him say. "I thought about the things you said to me yesterday, and also looked up some chronicles…You are right, not all Immortals are evil, there are also a lot of good ones… We made a terrible mistake… I made a terrible mistake. I had no right to kill any Immortal, I know that now."

Methos noticed the sound of a deep sigh at the other end of the line.

"I'm convinced that we have to stop the killing, it's wrong," O'Brien continued with a serious voice. "I'm on my way to talk with Horton, I will persuade him that we were wrong."

"No," Methos shouted surprised and shocked at the same time. "You cannot talk with Hort…"

"Please," O'Brien interrupted him friendly but very determined. "I've known James for several years now, he is a good and honourable man, he will listen to me. I'm sure that he will see the things the way I see them as soon as I explain the truth to him."

"But," Methos once again tried to reason with him.

"Please, Adam, I made my decision already. I'm not a man who denies his mistakes; I made one and I'm going to correct it…I promised to keep your secret, Adam, and I will. Trust me, everything will be fine. Horton is an intelligent man, he will listen." Without giving Methos another chance to say anything, he continued, "I have to go now but I promise to call you as soon as I get back."

"No, Horton will kill you," Methos screamed into the receiver, but O'Brien had already hung up. Methos looked aghast at the receiver in his hand. "Damn, damn, damn," he angrily shouted, "stupid fool." Methos had studied Horton during the past weeks very closely, and had come to the conclusion that this man was a real fanatic, a lunatic who would kill anyone who got into his way, Immortal or not, a man who was not to be reasoned with, a heartless killer. O'Brien was running to his own death.

Damn boy scouts, Methos thought angrily while he slammed the receiver down. He looked at the boy who was laughing at something happening on the TV, and then back at the phone in front of him. No, not his fault if the fool got himself killed. O'Brien was old enough to take care of himself…And had HE talked O'Brien into speaking with Horton? No, definitely not…But…no, nothing 'but', he tried to persuade himself, this had not been his idea. If the other man got himself killed, O'Brien's problem not his.

Methos continued to stare at the phone and heard again the laughter of the boy. Damn, he finally thought, I cannot let him run to his own ruin... Why do I always care? I'm a stupid fool myself, he angrily damned himself while he grabbed his coat and weapons and hurried to the door. Before he reached it, he turned again and shouted at the boy, "I want you to go to bed when the film is over." Then he raced to Horton's house as fast as he could manage, praying silently that he would arrive in time.


	13. 13

**Horton's house**

About 30 minutes later, Methos finally arrived at Horton's house. Grabbing his coat and weapons, Methos jumped out of his car and raced to the front door. He pulled his gun out of his coat and hid it behind his back as he rang. No one opened; Methos rang again. When after three minutes still nobody had opened for him, he decided to try the terrace-door, he knew from his former observations was located at the other side of the house. While he hurried through the garden, he noticed voices that got louder as he came closer.

Methos could understand word - artefacts. A man, apparently O'Brien was saying, "…wrong. Immortals are no…"

Then, Methos heard an evil laughter interrupt, "You are a fool…Immortals are abnor…I should have kno…not trusted."

"James, please,…ow the truth now…stop."

Methos, panting very fast now, finally arrived at the glass-terrace-door and froze as he saw the forms of two men standing in the room, he could see through the terrace-door. As Methos crept closer, he identified Horton, who pointed a gun at O'Brien. Although threatened by the weapon, O'Brien seemed to be very calm as he tried to reason with Horton, who in contrast looked very angry; Horton's face was deep red and his voice trembled in hate as he glared at the other.

"You are a traitor, you gay-scum…I don't need any traitors."

The moment he aimed at O'Brien and pulled the trigger, Methos jumped through the glass door, trying to save his face with his hands against the glass. While he heard the glass shatter around him and felt it cut through his hands, he also heard the sound of the bullet, and knew that he was too late. He landed on the floor between the two men, rolled in one quick motion to his feet again and then attacked the totally surprised Horton immediately.

Horton did not have a chance against Methos, who sent him to the floor with one powerful blow to the head. Not waiting for the other man to recover, he grabbed the dazed watcher by his shoulder and once again landed a forceful hit in his stomach. When he heard the other cry out in pain, he let go of him and stepped two steps back while he pulled his Walter PPK and pointed it at Horton.

"Get up," he ordered with a very deadly and cold voice. Because Horton didn't obey immediately, but instead only looked at Methos with confused eyes, Methos aimed the Walter PPK at his right leg and shot without hesitation. He heard Horton cry in pain as the bullet grazed his leg.

"The next time I will aim a little bit higher," Methos informed Horton with a cold voice. "Get. Up. Now."

This time, Horton followed the order immediately, although he stared with hate burning eyes at Methos.

Methos pulled the handcuffs he had brought with him out of his coat and threw them to Horton. "Secure yourself to the chair," he ordered. After Horton had obeyed, Methos turned and hurried to O'Brien, who was laying motionless on the floor. Very concerned about his condition, Methos tried to move him to examine him better. As he felt something warm and sticky on his hands, he looked down - his hands were covered with blood. "No," he whispered while he felt fear rise in him. Horton is going to die a very painful death if O'Brien is dead, he swore to himself while he stripped the clothes off O'Brien with shaking hands.

After he had removed them, he finally was able to get a better look at the injuries. Methos let out a believed breath, the man would live, the bullet had obviously only grazed his left side. Apparently, the force of the bullet, had thrown the other man against the table behind him, where he had hit his head and then lost consciousness. Methos closed his eyes and thanked fate. After that, he began to look after the wound; he took O'Brien's coat and cut it into strips, which he used to bandage the injury.

After he had made sure that his friend would be all right, he got up again and walked back to his captive, who sat motionless on his chair and stared with hate burning eyes at Methos. As Horton witnessed the small cuts Methos had inflicted on himself while jumping through the glass-door, closing in front of his eyes, the expression of hate on his face deepened even more.

"Abnormality," he spat with a hate trembling voice into Methos face. "You are the reason he betrayed me." Horton's face was covered in sweat, his eyes burned in madness and his wrists clenched around the chair while his body trembled with hate. Methos was sure that Horton would have rushed upon him if he hadn't been secured on the chair. This man was a crazy and dangerous lunatic, there was no way to reason with him.

Methos felt the burning eyes of the other man look him over from head to toe. Then Horton angrily shouted, "What have you given him? Have you slept with him, Immortal scum? That's it, isn't it? You have seduced him with your pretty little face… Of course, he trusted you; the stupid fool wanted to convince me that you are all so good, you evil bastards…I should never have trusted O'Brien…should have known better than to associate with this gay-scum…Next time, I will make sure that I will be surrounded by real men and not cXXX-fXXXXX."

Methos shook his head in disbelief; the man obviously was totally out of his mind. Looking at the other man from a short distance, all what he could see now was a stupid creature, that was shouting in anger and hate at him, threatening him with words, but unable to really harm him in any way. At this moment, Methos became aware that the burning hate, Death had felt for the man, was completely gone, instead there was only abhorrence left, abhorrence of Horton.

He sighed, and looked Horton directly into his eyes. "You don't get it, don't you?" he spoke with a very calm voice, "there will be no next time for you… …You will die today, Horton."

Horton laughed, it was a crazy laugh. "You little scum, I'm not the only one. Kill me and my friends will come after you. We will erase you from earth; you will not rule… We will save mankind from you abnormalities."

At the last words, Methos laughed humourlessly while he shook his head again. "You are a fool, Horton. Your companions are dead, I killed them all… You wanted to save mankind from us?…Then let me tell you that you almost destroyed the world in your madness. If it hadn't been for a small boy, the Horsemen would ride again and there would be nothing left of your world…And then, yes, then Immortals would rule mankind…And it would have been all your fault, Horton."

Methos stepped a bit closer to Horton and continued with a deadly voice, devoid of any human feeling, to whisper into Horton's right ear. "You've read of the Horsemen, haven't you?… Kronos, Silas, Caspian and…ME."

As he stepped back, he saw Horton's face pale, a small flicker of fear appeared in the other man's face while he stared at Methos with wide eyes. Methos could see that the he had suddenly understood that he was not facing a new Immortal but a very dangerous and very old one instead.

"I really thought about giving you a chance, but you don't deserve one." Methos stared directly into his eyes before he continued with an ice-cold voice, "I, Methos, oldest of all Immortals, former Horseman known as Death, do condemn you to death."

As he pulled his sword out of his coat, he could hear the disbelieving voice of Horton whisper, "no, you can't be HIM…HE doesn't exist." Horton's eyes were full of fear as he looked at the deadly Immortal in front of him; he saw no mercy there, only the cold promise of his death.

Laughing coldly at the stupid creature in front of him, Methos swung the sword and beheaded Horton in one forceful stroke. He watched as the head fell down next to the body and rolled over the floor until it lay under a chair. The last expression on Horton's face was a mix of disbelief and pure panic. Looking down, Methos whispered, "fool." After he had wiped his bloodied sword off on Horton's clothes, he went to O'Brien, who still happened to be out cold, and carried him to his car.

**O'Brien's house**

About 20 minutes later, he had brought O'Brien to his house where he had laid him on his bed, and waited for him to recover. Another five minutes later, O'Brien finally moaned and then opened his eyes, which were full of confusion and pain. "What?" he asked as he recognized Methos sitting next to his bed. "What happened?…I was at Horton's."

Methos smiled warmly and explained, "Horton shot you. I jumped through the door and tried to overpower him…He is dead."

"Good," O'Brien answered while his features relaxed. "Good," he repeated, "It seems I misjudged him. I thought him to be a honourable and intelligent man, but obviously I was wrong." O'Brien looked at Methos. "He didn't give me a chance to explain, instead he called me a traitor; gay-scum, he shouted at me…I thought us to be friends… I was wrong, he only used my influence on the watchers; he was not interested in the real me… It also seems to me now that he hated me for being gay almost as much as he hated you for being Immortal." O'Brien shook his head in disbelief and hurt. "He wanted to kill me because I no longer agreed with him… I still can't believe it."

Closing his eyes for a moment, O'Brien remained silent. Then, he looked up again and took Methos's hand as he whispered, "thank you, my friend, for saving my life. I am deeply in your debt." Methos only smiled. "What are friends for?" Then he got up. "I have to leave you know, Sean, I have a young boy to take care of".

As he went to the door, he heard Sean's voice behind him, "Friday, 8 pm, at Geofres'?"

Methos turned, "sure, but you pay." Hearing the laughter behind him, he left the house.


	14. Epilogue

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**Epilogue**

* * *

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**Next day, Darius' grave**

The next day was a very beautiful hot summer day, no single cloud shadowed the sky above. Methos and the boy, who was still holding the tiger tightly, stood together in front of Darius grave, which was shadowed by a big oak. The inscription of the marble gravestone read 'DARIUS beloved brother, murdered in 1993'.

Methos smiled and knelt down in front of it. He pulled a single red rose out of his coat and lay it down on the grave, smiling warmly. "You were always there for me when I needed you most. I thank you for your help, old friend...You showed me love and taught me always to continue. I will never forget you...never."

He got up again and then took the small golden cross, he had taken from Darius dead body, and laid it down next to the rose. Looking at the gravestone, he then whispered, "Goodbye my friend, may you be wherever you wanted to be...You are avenged now...Rest in peace."

He took the hand of the boy, and then they left together, a smile on each face.

**END.**


End file.
